


Little Dreams of Spring

by jeeno2



Series: and in the end [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Kissing, Pregnancy, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: Gendry pulls back a little so he can look at her. Arya’s eyes are unfocused, and her lips look swollen. Kissed. Her hair is a wreck from the wind and from his roaming, restless hands.-----------(or: a collection of very short Season 8 fix-it ficlets)





	1. secure

**Author's Note:**

> Over the past month I've written a series of prompt ficlets on tumblr that aren't long enough to warrant posting separately. So I'm posting them here. :)
> 
> Most of these ficlets will be rated T, but one or two of them are dirty enough I'm rating this an E just to be safe. The rated E ficlets will be noted as such in their titles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a tumblr fic prompt from Nymja: “They want to secure a betrothal as soon as possible.”

“They want to secure a betrothal as soon as possible.”

Gendry pulls back a little so he can look at her. Arya’s eyes are unfocused, and her lips look swollen, _kissed._ Her hair is a wreck from the wind and from his roaming, restless hands.

“Why are you telling me this?” Because it doesn’t make any sense for her to be telling him this. Not now. Not anymore. He leans in for another kiss–because now that he knows she still wants this, still wants _him,_ he seems unable to do anything _but_ kiss her–but before he can manage it Arya puts a finger to his lips, stopping him.

“Because,” she says. She closes her eyes, rests her forehead against his. She lets out a shuddering sigh. Her breath wafts warm and sweet across his lips.

He doesn’t ever want this moment to end.

“Because?”

She huffs, frustrated. “ _Because_ , Gendry. I’m leaving. On this ship.” She gestures vaguely behind her, to the ship and its crew. Waiting for her. “You can’t… you have to know they won’t want you to wait for me.”

A laugh bubbles up and out of him before he can stop it from happening.

He presses another kiss to her cheek.

“I’m not waiting for you,” he says mildly.

Arya’s hands drop from his shoulders. She takes a step back.

After a long pause, she says: “good.” She nods. Clears her throat. Her bottom lip trembles. “That’s… that’s good.”

He rolls his eyes at her--he’s not the only one who can be stupid, it seems--and pulls her to him once more.

His words are low, urgent, in her ear.

“I’m not waiting for you because I’m coming _with_ you.”

Recognition dawns slowly on her face. When it does, though, her radiant smile would outshine any sun..

“Oh,” she murmurs.

To Gendry’s relief, Arya doesn’t have it in her to argue with that.


	2. greetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a 5-sentence tumblr prompt from Nymja: "You piece of shit," he greets.

“You piece of shit,” he greets.

Gendry’s eyes go wide in spite of himself, still not quite used to the verbal abuse the Hound heaps on him with regularity, even after all this time.

But Arya--far more used to the old man and his horrible ways than Gendry is--only snorts with laughter.

“We’re _married_ , you miserable ass.” She walks slowly, carefully, over to where Gendry sits, perched on a ledge just outside Storm’s End. She smooths a hand over her belly, so round with their first child it’s all Gendry can do not to kiss her there every minute of every day. “He’s allowed to put a baby in me if I let him.”

The Hound spits on the ground derisively. “Why you married that twat is beyond me.” But the older man’s eyes are soft, and they linger fondly on Arya’s rounded shape–and despite the Hound’s harsh words Gendry isn’t fooled for a second.


	3. secret admirer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a tumblr prompt: "Gendrya: secret admirer."

The gifts start arriving a few months after he gets to Storm’s End.

They’re small things–a shiny foreign coin one day; a pretty stone the next–all in unsigned, unmarked packages, and at first, Gendry doesn’t think anything of them. The demands on his time now that he is lord of Storm’s End are too overwhelming. So are all the tributes he’s getting from smallfolk and lords from lower Houses wanting to curry favor with House Baratheon. 

“They’re really starting to pile up, you know,” Davos Seaworth says late one night, too casually, as they sit in Gendry’s solar going over sums. 

Gendry scrubs a hand over his face. “What’s really starting to pile up?” He’s exhausted from another day spent out of his element and is only barely listening to his advisor. He can barely even keep his eyes open. All he wants to do right now is crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Davos gives Gendry a pointed look. “The gifts from your secret admirer, lad.” The corners of the older man’s mouth twitch, and he looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh. 

Gendry drops his hand. “What are you talking about?” There’s been nothing  _ secret _ about all the attention the ladies of the Stormlands have been paying him. Just the opposite.  _ Too  _ much the opposite. He wants nothing to do with these girls. 

The only girl he’s ever wanted is… 

He shakes his head. He scowls. No point dwelling on what he can’t have. “I don’t have a secret admirer.”

Davos clears his throat meaningfully and tosses a small package wrapped in plain brown paper on the table. “This is the fifth one you’ve gotten this month that’s wrapped just like this.”

Gendry stares at it. It’s small, and oddly shaped. Unmarked, with no sign of where it’s from or who sent it.

“I get lots of gifts now,” he says, irritably. “I don’t see why you think that–”

“The raven who brought it flew to us from the west.” Davos looks at him, his eyes serious, kind. “ _ Far _ from the west.”

Davos says more things after that. Gendry thinks he does, anyway. But he isn’t listening anymore. 

He tears the paper off the package with shaking hands. The little stag he finds inside seems to have been carved from ivory. It was crudely made–he’s certain he could have done a better job himself, made a much more accurate likeness of his House sigil–but Gendry thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen all the same.

It fits easily in his palm. He closes his hand around it and brings it up to his lips, wishing it was  _ her _ lips he was kissing instead.

Can this really be from…?

“Aren’t you going to read the note it came with?”

Gendry opens his eyes and sees Davos, holding a small slip of parchment out to him, a knowing smile on his face.

Gendry reads it, heart in his throat.

He reads it again.

He ends the meeting.


	4. it hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the tumblr prompt: "It hurts."

Gendry grits his teeth as Arya gingerly rolls up his pant leg, digging his fingernails into his palms to keep from crying out like an idiot.

She stares at his wound. Bites her lip.

“This looks… bad,” she says.

He nods, feeling a little vindicated. “Yeah. It  _ feels _ bad.”

“You didn’t remember what I taught you.”

Her words are accusatory–and with good reason; he’d forgotten every single bloody  _ thing _ she’d taught him about fighting in tourneys, once he was in the heat of the moment–but her tone, her eyes, are soft. Almost sympathetic, he’d think, if sympathetic were a thing Arya did.

“No,” he admits. “Ser Brienne was a lot faster than me. And I…” He trails off. Swallows. “Panicked.”

“Mm.” Arya traces his wound with the tip of her finger. The cut in his leg is easily three inches across, and it’s still bleeding a bit more than Gendry wishes it were. But Arya’s feather-light touch on his skin, after too many months spent thinking he might never feel it again, is enough on its own to make him forget the pain.

Almost. 

He coughs into his hand. “I… um. Need more jousting lessons, I think.”

She smirks at him. “Oh?”

He nods. “Definitely. If I’m going to be a lord, I better know my way around–”

He’d had a whole  _ thing _ he was going to say, about how he is hopeless without her and how he  _ needs _ her to help him know how to do literally everything that comes with being a lord--but now Arya’s running her fingertips gently up his leg, well past his injury, up past his knee, stopping only when she gets to the middle of his thigh. 

She presses a lingering kiss to his kneecap. He forgets how to breathe.

“Why don’t we get you bandaged up,” she murmurs quietly. She sits back on her haunches. She’s smirking again. Is there anything about this woman that  _ doesn’t _ make him want to kiss her breathless? He doesn’t think so. “Then we’ll talk about more lessons.”

She kisses his leg again, a little higher up this time. 

In the end, he agrees that the lessons can wait.


	5. grind (nsfw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt: "Gendrya, grinding." I decided to ignore everything after S8 Episode 3 for this ficlet, and also to make it smutty because tbh I think we all need more porn ;)

 

 

“Quiet,” Arya hisses into his ear. “You have to be quiet.”

Gendry knows he has to be quiet, knows like he knows his own  _name_  that if anyone were to find him in here, with her, like this–-Lady Sansa perhaps; or, gods forbid, Jon Snow-–they’d cut his balls off and feed them to the direwolf for breakfast.

But the way Arya’s moving on top of him right now, her body grinding so deliciously against his painfully stiff cock, her breath hot and needy against his throat as she moves…

It makes being quiet difficult. Makes  _everything_  difficult, really, other than thrusting up into her pliant body as much as their clothing will allow.

“Okay,” Gendry whispers. He nods. She opens her legs wider, presses herself against him harder. His eyes cross, and his fingernails dig into her hips with the struggle to hold on. “ _Arya,_  please, I–”

It had been her idea to try it this way this time. Neither of them can afford for her to get pregnant right now. Not with the Battle for the Dawn barely over and the Battle for King’s Landing still ahead. But the idea of not touching her, of not seeing her break apart on his cock again for gods only knows how long, is unbearable to Gendry now that he knows what it’s like to have her.

She kisses him, hard, on the mouth as she speeds up her movements, grinds harder, and faster, against him. It’s building at the base of his spine already, the mind-bending pleasure, and one look at Arya’s face, at the way her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth drops open in a silent  _O_ , tells him she’s close too.

“Gendry–” she cries into his neck,  _loud,_ her body going rigid against his as she falls apart.

Others probably heard her just now. The forge is about as private these days as the most crowded Flea Bottom flophouses used to be. But as he holds her close and grinds up into her, chasing his own release, he can’t find it in him to care.


	6. this is your daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A five sentence tumblr ficlet

“This is your daughter.”

The Maester smiles, and hands Gendry a bundle that is so small he hardly dares breathe once she’s in his arms.

She’s sleeping now, just like her mother in the next room, her eyes shut tight and the tip of her tiny thumb hovering just in front of her perfect, bow-shaped mouth. She has his thick, dark hair, and Arya’s nose, and–

And, he’s never seen anything more perfect, more beautiful, in his life.

The Maester says something else to him then, and laughs a little. But Gendry cannot hear him. 

 _Oh_ , he thinks to himself, in awe, feeling like he’s drowning, unable to look away from the miracle in his arms.  _I am so completely and utterly fucked._


	7. what will we call her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another five sentence tumblr ficlet ;)

“What will we call her?”

The crash of thunder underscores Arya’s tired words, and her voice is barely above a whisper. But Gendry’s senses are so attuned to her he makes out the question as easily as if she’d shouted it.

He looks down at the sleeping babe in his arms. Takes in her thick, dark hair and her tiny dimpled chin. Their daughter is the very image of him, the Maester had said, but all Gendry can see when he looks at her is his wife. 

How is it is possible that he is here, in this soft, warm bed, with Arya and their new daughter? It’s like something out of one of his wildest dreams. 

“Did you want to name her after your mother?” he asks around the lump in his throat. “Catelyn?”

But Arya is already asleep again, her head on his shoulder, her breath sweet and warm against his neck.

Gendry closes his eyes, and cradles their little girl closer, unable to quite believe  this is real.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on twitter at [jeenonamit](https://twitter.com/jeenonamit/)  
> I'm also on tumblr at [jeeno2](https://jeeno2.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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